𝐶𝑟𝑎𝑠ℎ 𝐼𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐶ℎ𝑜𝑟𝑢𝑠: 𝐹𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 (𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑤𝑜)
꒰𐔌 │What happens when, in the mid 80s, rock meets pop? In this series, an unexpected encounter of a rising star in the music industry and the newly appointed King of pop will lead to a complex relationship as they grow in front of the cameras and behind closed doors. This strange and surprising meeting is a complete crash into the chorus. (Thrad era Michael)
⤷ ゛Click here for chapter one <3 ˎˊ˗
Trope: Nemesis to lovers/Rivals to lovers/Enemies to lovers
Author’s note: For this chapter, i wanted to try something new: a little video to make this fanfic a little more immersive and interactive! When you see it, please listen to the entirety of the 24 seconds clip to make your reading experience better!!
WARNING: No smut or scene describing a sexual relation will be present in this entire series, only fluff will be depicted.
Word count: 1.3k (short srry)
Chapter summary: After a little bit of explosive convincing, our rock star has finally agreed to a contract with the iconic Quincy Jones. However, now’s the real test: a meeting, face to face, with her future producer! Despite her attitude being controversially unlikable, will their dynamic develop into something workable…?
This series includes a playlist, click on the link at the end of the post!
Previously on 𝐶𝑟𝑎𝑠ℎ 𝐼𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐶ℎ𝑜𝑟𝑢𝑠:
“Shut it before I change my mind.” She ended the call suddenly, the poor victim of her manager’s annoying comments knows she better end it before he starts giving her wrinkles. She turned off the TV and the small lamp that was the only source of light. As the nightlife rocked her to sleep, her mind began thinking about every choice she's made throughout the day:
“I'm gonna be working with Quincy Jones.”
This was exactly what the singer, who was up early and energized, was doing. Anticipating. Learning the enemy in the real, raw wild. Though this might sound overdramatic, everything was crucial for someone whose career had just debuted. Everything had to be perfect; her music had to be exactly what she wanted. Satisfaction was not enough — extraordinary was just the standard. This was why she woke up 5 hours, 7 minutes, and 56 seconds before the meeting—the meeting she had agreed to on a whim 3 days ago after a heated conversation in her damned manager’s office.
She had been watching interviews of Jones since she rose and shined, and not in a creepy stalker way. She was just taking this very seriously (or she was just a tiny bit nervous); she needed to be SURE he would be good enough to work on HER songs. Today, the young star would meet Quincy Jones for the first time to (maybe) sign a contract with him. If she agreed (because yes, she could have quite the mood swings), he would become her producer.
As she struggled to win the fight against the clasps of her black lace bralette, the sound of the television played the melody of background noise she was semi-paying attention to.
“Alright, enough with that crap, I'm gonna be late,” she murmured before suddenly pressing the power button on the remote control. Her apartment became silent in an instant, except for the occasional sounds of her movements.
The producer my manager is desperately buttering up worked with this guy. The guy crowned King of Pop with the best-selling album of all time. What did she think of him? Nothing really. She didn’t hate him, she didn’t disrespect him, she just didn’t care at all about her competitor. The newcomer was just way too focused on her own career to care about the royalty of music. No offense to THE Michael Jackson, nothing personal. Her albums came first, that's all.
She was finishing up some last touch-ups—gosh, her hair looked incredible today—when three sharp knocks on her mahogany door reached her ears.
“Yes, I am coming!” she yelled out while her hands were still teasing her hair. She reached for the golden handle to reveal Ricky, standing impatiently in front of the entrance, feet tapping on the marble floor of the fancy hallway.
“Hurry up…” The poor bodyguard mumbled through clenched teeth as he looked at her with a forced, fake smile.
“Yeah, yeah, I know! Pressuring me like that just stresses me out even more!” She panicked theatrically, and he rolled his eyes; this woman was always acting a tad bit too dramatic.
“Please. I don’t want your asshole manager yelling at me again because I got you there late.”
“I swear, if this jerk wasn't so damn good at business, I would’ve fired his ass a long time ago. Just put up with him until he makes us billionaires.”
“Well, you better give me a raise for all the suffering I have to go through in his presence.”
“Don't act like you got a family to feed, R. We all know you’re just gonna spend that extra cash on clubs and drinks. Hey, and don’t start complaining—I already get you access to the best clubs in the city! That’s basically already extra money!” She scolded jokingly before grabbing her purse.
“Mm’Kay, let’s go. Time to hit the road.”
As the close duo walked through the reception hall, the overworked receptionist called to her.
“What is it? I'm sorry, but I'm kinda running late.” She stopped in her tracks reluctantly.
“Yes, yes, I know. It’s your manager, Mr. Taylor—he just called. He told me to tell you: ‘stop ghosting me and answer your phone when I call, I know you’re doing it on purpose. Hurry your ass, Quincy is waiting, don’t upset him.’ That is all. Have a good day, Miss.” Her face flashed a sparkly, professional smile as the singer let out an annoyed groan.
“Ugh, no way he even called my apartment building just because I wasn’t answering my phone! He’s acting like a possessive ex, seriously, it’s embarrassing!” She slightly stomped her feet before continuing down the path to the exit.
“Don't kill your manager, it would be bad for your career,” she whispered to herself as the doorman opened the doors.
“Thanks, Chris.” The upset star walked down the stairs as she turned to Ricky. “Go get the valet quickly, please. I don’t want Taylor’s annoying little…existence to pester my energy even more.”
Arriving in front of the studio, she took a deep breath and exhaled loudly as Rick closed the door of her beloved Rolls-Royce behind her. She put on her usual confident walk and strolled inside. As soon as she entered, Taylor’s nervous secretary came striding straight toward her.
“Ah! Miss! You’re finally here! Everyone is waiting for you inside the office.” She then leaned in to whisper, “P.S. He’s not happy.”
The singer mockingly giggled and continued advancing toward the room.
“If Jones isn't upset, then I don’t care about how that grumpy midlife-crisis man is feeling. Nice shirt, by the way, Nancy.”
As soon as the palm of her hand grabbed the shiny door handle and her wrist twisted to open it, Taylor’s irritating presence ruined her mood as he stood up angrily from his chair and muttered through clenched teeth:
She didn’t even have time to reply with a snarky comment; her mouth opened and let out a sharp sigh when her eyes landed on Quincy Jones. He stood up as well and brushed a speck of dust off his shirt. He started talking with a slight, amused smirk.
“Ah. There she is. I was starting to think that you ditched us. Glad that you didn’t—I was looking forward to meeting you.”
She scoffed, and to show her respect (she was very subtle when showing respect), she extended her hand. The famous producer stretched out his arm and shook hands with her.
“Glad to meet you too, Mr. Jones. Sorry for the wait, I was taking my time to make sure I looked presentable in front of a legend,” she explained in her casual, sarcastic tone.
“Well, you sure look beautiful. And please, just Quincy.”
“Fine. If we’re going on a first-name basis, you can call me by my name, too.”
Quincy nodded his head, and her lawyer, Mr. Davis, joined the others in standing up.
“Alright, lady and gentlemen, shall we start talking business?”
They all sat down, and Davis placed the contract right in the middle of the table. After discussing for a bit, both parties felt ready to sign, but before they did, the star had to say one last thing to her soon-to-be producer.
“For your information, I like to have a lot of freedom when working on my songs.”
Jones chuckled slightly, observing the fiery expression in her eyes.
“And for your information, I like to do my job as a producer.”
Her face remained dead serious before a small smile painted itself across her lips.
“Alright, let’s sign this. Like always, ladies first. Quincy.” She slid the papers over to him, and Jones couldn't help but let out a small laugh.
“I like you. I like you and your attitude—it’s really refreshing,” he said as his fingers gripped the luxurious ballpoint pen, and in a few seconds, his side of the contract was signed. He then turned the paper around to her. The new celebrity hesitated for a split moment before turning off her brain and signing it without second thoughts.
After wrapping it up, they all politely bid goodbye. As she left the studio, Ricky, like always, was waiting, leaning against the car.
She smiled and nodded to announce the positive news.
Hearing that, the bodyguard let out a purposefully loud sigh of relief.
“Hey! Why are you sighing like that?”
“Because I was preparing in case you eventually ran away mid-meeting.”
“Well, I didn’t. I'm not a puss, you wuss.”
𝑆𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑦 𝑡𝑤𝑖𝑛 @cemeterygirldotcom 𝑓𝑜𝑟 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑒 𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑧𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑖𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑎𝑛𝑓𝑖𝑐 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑚𝑒 🥹<3
Here’s the access to the playlist I specifically made for this fanfiction, listen to it while reading!
And as you guys can tell I put a lot of effort into these posts so support would really be appreciated!! Tysmmm 🥹🌸
